The Camel
by Midwich Cuckoo
Summary: TCP. Sometimes mutants are found not only in the USA, but also in less developed communities in other parts of the world.


**Disclaimer: Only the characters of this story are those I can call truly mine. Beta: Moviemom44. **

**The Camel**

The sands of the desert of the Horn of Africa stretched away to the horizon, above which the golden ball of sun was set, like some exotic African jewel burning above the heads of two boys, who came to tend their camels here in the middle of nowhere. And, although no one besides those two could know, they had also come to do… something else.

The air was hot and dry, like always in Somalia. The camels seemed quite contented with what was left to eat in this place that was almost devoid of grass – though no one, their teenage shepherds included, could really know for sure; it's hard to read the facial features of a camel. The boys were black-skinned, curly-haired and, as much as one could guess by looking at them, very excited. One of the boys, named Rashid after his grandfather who died barely a week before the boy was born, was actually old enough to be called a man in the world of the desert nomads. Here, everyone grew up faster than their peers in the West. He didn't know his exact age, but guessed he could be seventeen or eighteen since for the last couple of years he'd been considered old enough to get married and carry out all the duties of an adult.

Rashid's younger brother, Ali, was five years younger or, at least, he thought so. In the desert, there was no use for calendars or clocks. But yes, it must have been five years because their sister Basma was two years older than Ali and three years younger than Rashid. Basma was actually only Rashid's real sister; Ali was just their half sibling. His mother was one of their father's four wives, the youngest being not much older than Basma herself, a custom that was nothing out of ordinary in the harsh desert world.

Basma was married herself now, a couple of months ago. A man old enough to be her grandfather by desert nomad standards traded their father five camels for her, camels that now belonged to the same horde the boys were tending. "Basma" means "smile" in Arabic but the girl was always gloomy and constantly shouting at her siblings. In all honesty, both the brothers sighed with relief when the girl disappeared from their life.

They were really close to each other, much closer than siblings so different in age typically are, even though there were many other siblings to bond with – fifteen to be exact – all of whom (maybe but for one exception) had a nicer disposition than their sister. The whole family consisted of fifteen living children of all ages, from Aleeke, older even than Rashid, to baby Amina, born barely a month ago to their father's youngest wife. There were also two twin boys, Ali's half brothers, born just a week after him and his real brother, Jamal, born between Ali and Rashid, but it was those two for whom the flower of brotherly love blossomed.

Rashid was the only one out of all the siblings whom the boy let in on the secret he had. He was showing him now, with a smile of pride, what he could do. And the pride was fully justified, given that most adults wouldn't be able to do what the younger boy was just showing to his sibling. Actually, almost no one – regardless of their age – could do it, except for a small handful of mutants endowed with the same power. That was what young Ali was – a mutant endowed with the power of shapeshifting.

"Do Basma once more," asked Rashid, giggling at the thought of their sister, whom, in spite of her attitude, he would like to see once more – whatever sort of person she was. She was still their sister and, although he wouldn't admit this to the rest of the family, he missed her.

"Wait one moment," smiled Ali, puckering his smooth dark forehead below the shock of curly black hair a little, as if what he was going to do in a moment was the most difficult thing he had ever done. And in some sense it was so – changing the molecular structure of one's own organism so that the flesh could assume the shape of someone else certainly isn't something everybody can do with ease. Ali's powers, powers he had only recently discovered, granted him the power to shapeshift. The boy was capable of assuming any shape he wished; all he needed to do was concentrate a bit and he could become anyone at all.

"Is it she?" asked the boy, looking at his brother. His body had already started to change its shape, taking on a resemblance to his sister.

"The eyes are too big," said Rashid, looking critically at the boy – no, now already a girl, a black-skinned girl with typical Somali facial features, a nose so narrow that it could belong to a Caucasian and lips not as wide as those of a typical negro. "And she had lighter skin than you do, remember. And her eyebrows were thicker."

They didn't have a mirror, nor did they ever see one, so the young mutant wasn't sure how similar to the original he was, being forced to depend on what his brother said. Finally, the process was finished and before Rashid there stood his sister, looking exactly like she did on the day when they saw her for the last time.

Ali's power demanded practice, of course. He could keep the illusion for as long as he wanted, even when sleeping. All he needed was some time to learn how to concentrate better to assume different shapes faster. It was why the boys chose a secluded place to bring the camels to today. Far from the family, the young mutant could practice safely, under the vigilant eye of his helper, telling him what mistakes he made.

The day was as calm as any other, though a much more interesting one – as it was ever since the boy discovered his power. Almost every day the young mutant practiced his newly found powers, about which only his brother knew. Basma soon disappeared from the eyes of Rashid, replaced by young Nhur, their other sister, only to be replaced yet again by father and all his four wives.

It was great fun the boys enjoyed until they decided to try something new—transforming into the body of an animal. A camel, to be precise. They knew what camels looked like, so why not check if it worked? But changing species, it turned out, was a much more difficult thing to do than merely shifting into a different human. Ali had to concentrate for at least a minute until his body started to change. Five minutes more and on the sandy ground there stood a young camel, looking just like all the ones the boys were tending, only younger and smaller because the boys' body could not increase its size. The camel was a very realistic looking animal. It even had a small scar on its back right leg, similar to one Ali had, since, as a young child, the boy injured his calf. Ever since that time he had a star shaped scar where the wound once was.

"I will go see our siblings," said the camel, suddenly. "I want to see what they are doing. They won't know it's me."

To hear the voice of his brother coming out of the mouth of an animal would normally be a shocking experience, but Rashid had already grown used to his brother's strange powers. Listening to the camel wasn't much different than looking at the boy whose body was melting, turning into shapes it didn't originally have. Rashid nodded, smiling at the camel as he watched it move farther and farther away, until the small dot it had become disappeared over the horizon. The next couple of hours he spent tending of the camels, waiting for his brother who didn't come back.

Well, maybe he turned back into a human again and had to do something his parents told him to do. The evening was coming. The boy took the camels and directed his steps towards the camp of his family.

The whole family was already gathered around the fire, kindled probably by Jamal, as always – boy, his half brother did love to start fires, always insisting on being allowed to kindle the fire, fascinated by the golden sparks as if he was a child, not a teenage boy. The smell of incense, the pieces of which had been thrown into the fire, mixed with the aromas of wood and camel dung that had been used to start the fire. And also with the smell of freshly cooked meat.

They were all eating, biting and chewing pieces of meat held in their hands. Father, mother, father's three other wives, including Fatima, the youngest, holding baby Amina in her arms. On her wrists, numerous bracelets jingled over the complicated henna paintings depicting a complicated flower pattern. There, too, were the twins, and Haji, who had a malicious disposition not so different from Basma, but who at the moment was not making any mean remarks, only devouring a big piece of meat clutched in his hand. In Grandma Sahru's lap sat little Khadiyah, pulling the old woman's grey curls. Ayan and her half sister Nhur, closest to her in age, both wearing identical traditional African dresses in a flower pattern, were eating pieces of meat put on long sticks the children held in the fire. It was Ayan who spoke up first, but not before she picked up another stick covered in the unidentified meat and gave it to her brother.

"Oh, you are back," she said, putting the meat in his hand with an automatic movement. "Where's Ali? There's still some meat waiting for him. Imagine, some strange young camel not belonging to us wandered here. Father killed him when he went to hunt. We are just eating the meat. I don't know whose camel it was. It wasn't one of ours. It had such a funny scar on its back leg. It was shaped like a star."


End file.
